Her expression doesn’t change. “No. You can’t.”
I look over her shoulder—there’s nobody left in line. “Come have a cup of coffee with me. Just a few minutes. Please.”
“I’m actually in a hurry.” She takes a step away from me, then another. No. I can’t let her get away that easy.
My hand shoots out, curls around her arm. She’s definitely lost weight. “Please. Just a few minutes. Just once, so I can explain what happened.”
One eyebrow rises. “There’s an explanation?”
“Of course.”
“I suppose you’ve had enough time to think one up.” She glances over her shoulder, where a girl is waiting behind the counter to take her order. I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting to see what she’ll do.
“Come on. What can it hurt to hear me out?”
“I’ll take a latte,” she tells the girl, then, she looks at me. “And I’ll be sitting with this gentleman.” There is sarcasm in the way she said the word gentleman, but my body sags with relief at her announcement. I lead her to the table and she sits opposite me, her spine ramrod straight.
“So what are you doing here?” She tucks her purse between her body and the wall and lays her leather gloves on the table. Her left hand is empty—I have to stop myself before I pump my fist in the air. Not even engaged. Is it possible that she’s been thinking about me these last two years, the way I have?
“I had a meeting with a potential buyer, just a block from here. I thought I’d stop in for a bite before heading back. I’m staying at a hotel nearby.”
“I guess it’s lucky you came in,” she murmurs. She won’t stop fidgeting. Her fingers drum on the tabletop. She keeps craning her neck to look up and down the street. What’s she so nervous about?
“From where I’m sitting, yes. It’s very lucky.” I reach for her hand to quiet the drumming. She pulls it away like my touch burns.
She gives a nervous, breathy laugh. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Two years.”
“Yes. Almost exactly.”
“You look wonderful,” I say softly, drinking her in with my eyes. She’s thinner, but even more beautiful than I remembered her. Memory’s a funny thing—it tends to paint a prettier picture than ever existed in reality. Not in her case. If anything, her hair is even more golden, her eyes a deeper green. Her skin is porcelain. Her lips are full, parted. I know what they feel like. She bites down on her lip and blood surges into my cock, making it twitch and thicken. Good thing there’s a table blocking her view.
“Thank you.” Her cheeks flush, making her even more delectable. Almost like a doll, but a very passionate one. I’ve never forgotten the passion she showed me that night. I’ve never been able to find it anywhere else, in anyone else.
I can’t sit here and make small talk anymore. “I feel like I owe you an apology or an explanation,” I blurt.
She shrugs. “No, you don’t. It’s been a long time. A lot of water has passed under the bridge.”
What happened to her? That’s not what I expected—especially the attitude, the almost bored tone of her voice. Either she had never really cared or I’d hurt her so badly, she was putting on an act. Could her pride still sting after two years? “Then please, do me a favor and let me explain for my own sake.”
“All right. Go on then.” The waitress brings her latte and puts it in front of her. She looks up and thanks the woman. Her hand shakes when she picks up her glass of coffee. That gives me hope. She is not as unaffected as she pretends to be.
“For starters, it was stupid of me not to get your phone number right away. I can’t tell you how stupid I felt when I realized we hadn’t exchanged them. It wasn’t deliberate, believe me. You were in a hurry and I was … well, I was so happy I wasn’t thinking clearly,” I admit.
“Yes, you did want my phone number,” she whispers, frowning.
“Oh, god, yes. Of course I did. I asked you to give me a missed call remember? You never did and I didn’t know how to contact you.”
She nods, a sad, faraway look in her eyes. She must be remembering that day.
“Anyway, after you left, I got a phone call. My best friend’s girlfriend called me. He was dying back in Ireland. The doctors didn’t even think he would make it past the night. He was the only brother I ever knew. We grew up together, went through everything together.” I can talk about it without the hurt choking me anymore. There was a long time when I couldn’t. “He had cancer. Lung cancer, and he never told me because he didn’t want to ask for my help. I had to fly to Ireland. I had to help him.”
Her frown deepens. She stares in my eyes, her gaze searching. She doesn’t know whether to believe me or not.
“I still remember charging around my hotel room, wondering how to contact you so I wouldn’t have to wait. I left a note there for you with a waitress in Costa. When you didn’t show up ...”
Her head jerks back. “But I did show up.”
It’s my turn to frown. “No way. I called five times. You never showed up.”
“That’s impossible. I waited until closing time.” She’s still unsure, though. I don’t blame her. It all sounds ridiculous.
Then it hits me. Oh fuck. “Which Costa did you go to?”
“I … uh … couldn’t remember the name of the street, so I told the taxi driver the Costa on the same street as Le Coq club.”
I close my eyes. It was that simple all along. “There are two Costas on that road. You said the one we passed.”
She leans back, pale, sad. “I didn’t know there were two Costas.”
I cover her hand with mine. “Why didn’t you give me a missed call?”
She shakes her head as if to clear it. “I lost my phone in the cab.”
“Why couldn’t my private investigators find you anywhere, not even on Facebook?”
“I don’t use it much anyway, and if you were looking for an Izzy you wouldn’t have found me. I’m registered under my full name, Isabella Faraday.”
“All these things couldn’t keep us apart. We ended up here together today,” I say in wonder.
She frowns.
“Oh, Izzy. You have no idea how long and hard I looked for you.’
“You did?” Her eyes are enormous. We stare at each other. Then something happens to her. A mask comes over her face. “What happened to your friend? Is he all right now?” Her voice is still shaky, but her face is still, composed; that of a stranger.
“I took Liam to Norway to a specialist hospital. Some kind of DNA mapping treatment. We spent more than two weeks there while he received treatment. He did well—very well. The tumors started shrinking and he made a tremendous turnaround. Energy, weight, appetite, it all started coming back, but it didn’t last.”
“Oh,” she breathes.
“I’ll never understand what happened. Sometimes I think it might have been better for him and Vanessa if I had never stepped in. Better for me, too. Hope can hurt. It fucking crushed us. We had such hopes when he started coming around. So when he died anyway …”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she says. “Truly, I am.”
I stare into her green, green eyes. She’s just as beautiful as ever. Maybe more. Maybe it’s two years of wanting that makes her look even better than I remembered. “I never forgot you, Izzy. A day didn’t pass without me thinking of you.”
Her eyelids flutter down. “It doesn’t matter now.”
I frown. “I want you to know I’m sorry you thought I stood you up, that I never cared. I did care. It ate my heart out, knowing you went to the hotel. I left a message at Costa, but with the shock of Liam’s illness, I just never even thought about the hotel …”
She holds up a hand and closes her eyes. “Don’t, all right? Just don’t.”